


Origin

by TwistedWonderland



Category: Heathers (1988)
Genre: Bitchiness, Eating Disorder, Gen, Heathers Are Horrible People, Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedWonderland/pseuds/TwistedWonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The origin of the infamous red scrunchie</p>
            </blockquote>





	Origin

Heather and Heather won’t shut the fuck up. I mean, seriously, I can’t hear myself over their annoying chatter. “I need help, Heather. I’m sick, Heather. Heather, please I think I lost a tooth. Just tell me I look good. Just tell me!”

God, I swear if those two start lezzing out on me, I’m going to smash both their heads in with my mallet next time we play croquet. And, if I did that, not that I would ever do something so…messy, Heather would finally get to be red like she always wanted.

I turn back to look at them, like they obviously want everyone in the store to do. Who has a panic attack in the middle of a boutique? It’s pathetic on Martha Dumptruck level. I hope no one from school is here to see them. I do a quick scan of the place, two old assholes who wouldn’t know Chanel from Agent Orange, a fag whose got better nails then I do, and the sales clerk who shouldn’t even work here. If you can’t afford it, why the fuck would I want you handling it?

The fag gives a little gasp and I turn my heads towards him, his lithe body gliding towards the shoes. Red leather. Five inches. Ruby slippers meets French Hooker. And absolutely delicious. I pick up the pace, leaving the bitching Heather behind. I breeze by the fag and snatch the heels from their display. His perfectly plucked eyebrow rises as his glossed lips turn into a cute pout

A challenge.

“Well?” I ask, matching his pout. 

“I wanted those.” He says, his hand sliding to his hip. 

“I don’t think they go with your outfit,” I say. “I heard they’re having a sale at the Salvation Army though. It would defiantly match your current style. The homeless chic look, right?”

To his credit his face doesn’t budge, but flushes a deep pink regardless.

“I have an outfit. A bra that I fill a lot better then you.”

“Well you’re certainly bitchy this morning,” I snap, my hand tightening around the shoes. “Did your Daddy not screw you hard enough? Did he leave you for a real man and not a prissy bitch with ugly ass nails?”

“Hate to disappoint you, cunty,” he sneers. “But your little high school mean girl act doesn’t work on me.”

Behind me, Heather and Heather finally cut the bullshit and flank me. Their arms crossed and hips cocked, daring him to make a move.

“Is this guy bothering you, Heather?” 

“Of course not, Heather,” I give the shoes to that bulimic bitch. “Hold these for me, won’t you Heather?”

“Of course, Heather.”

“Aw that’s sweet, you and your little princess posse all have the same name.” the fag smirks, like this was the funniest thing he’s ever seen. “How I wish I was young and stupid like you three.”

“You were young?” Heather asks. “I wasn’t aware they had time when you were born.”

“I read a book that said homosexuals aren’t meant for society,” Heather said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I hear your kind like to touch little boys. Is that true?”

“Is that why you want these shoes?” I ask him. “So you could dress up like their mommy and take them home?”

I take a step towards him, Heather and Heather mimicking me. The fag steps back, his small Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. A bead of sweat races from him forehead down his defined collarbone.

“Do you get off on it?” I ask. “Do you love the say leather thongs and heels feel against you skin. Does it make you happy? Does it piss you parents off so much that you climax to the thought of them seeing you in a wig and bra being plowed by a truck driver with a thick ass beard named Darlene?”

The fag’s face is as red as the heels. The gloss on his lips catches the light as it drops to respond, but only a small whisper of air escapes his mouth. With a huff, he turns on his heel and walks out of the store. I smile and grab the shoes from Heather before approaching the counter.

“Is that all?” the counter lady asks, reaching for the price tag.

“God, no!” I exclaim. “I already have a pair of these at home.” Instead I grab a red scrunchie out of the plastic tub next to the register. “I’ll take this though.”

I throw a ten on the counter, already fixing the scrunchie into my hair as Heather, Heather, and I walk out into the warm Ohio sun.

**Author's Note:**

> I found this digging through my computer files and just had to post it. It was so much fun being in the Heathers' head. Terrifying and dark as fuck, but still fun.
> 
> Obligitory Tumblr Plug: http://twistedwonderlandbrokenoz.tumblr.com/


End file.
